Drakon by Annette Gisby Page A

they were on the bed, he was gentle and his lips travelled across her body into all her secret places and she thought she might die from the pleasure of it. It was Jonathan and she was his wife and he was making love to her as though she was the only woman in the world and nothing else existed except them and this room and this bed and she was soaring, soaring, soaring.
    Jonathan was there too. They came together in a chorus of moans and Jonathan lay on top of her, spent and exhausted.
    “God, Andrea! I love you so much!” And she felt his tears against her chest, mingling with the sweat of their lovemaking.
    “Jonathan, I love you too. I always have and I always will.”
    “Even after everything? After I've lied to you?” He looked up at her. Andrea reached out her hand, wiping his tears away.
    “I know you must have had your reasons. I realize that now. You were only trying to protect me. No matter what you've done, or will do, I know that you love me. And I will love you. Forever.”
    “But I don't deserve you, Andrea! Look at what's happened to you because of me? Why do you love me Andrea?”
    “Because you're the one. I can't love anyone else.”
     
    *
     
    The next few weeks passed by in a blur, with both of them helping out at the farm. Jonathan spent all day in the fields with Pat, while Angela taught Andrea how to make cheese and butter in the dairy.
    She was surprised how much she enjoyed the physical work. On Mondays it was market day and Angela would take in their milk, cheese and butter to be sold. At night they would make love, like the newly-weds they were, and it was like each time was the first time and better than the last.
    Andrea wanted the distraction, of going to the market with Angela but Jonathan didn't want them to go where anyone could see them other than the Malone family. So that's how she ended up on her own baby-sitting Kate. The little girl was fascinated by Andrea's red hair. She was staring at Andrea and holding her rag doll against her chest like a baby, rocking it and cooing to it.
    “Would you like to hold Amelia?” Asked Kate.
    Andrea felt her chest constrict. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.
    “Amelia?” She whispered.
    “My doll,” said Kate and thrust it out in front of her like an offering. No, Andrea didn't want to hold a doll. She wanted to hold a flesh and blood child. Her own child. A child who wouldn't die on her. Her child. And Jonathan's. She cried then, trying to hide it from Kate. The chemotherapy had made her barren and she despaired.
    She was crying for herself, but most of all for Jonathan. She'd seen the way he was around kids. She could never give him a family, and she knew it was what he wanted. A happy family to take away the memories of his unhappy one. She wanted to give him that. She ached to give him that. And it had been robbed from her. Ripped from her body by modern medicine.
    “Auntie Andrea!” Kate's cry reached through her tears. Andrea glanced up from the table and felt her insides turn to rubber. There was a shadow by Kate's shoulder, almost reaching out to the little girl.
    “NO!” Screamed Andrea and shot up from the chair. “Run Kate! Run!” But Kate stood there, motionless. Not even her eyes were moving. The shadow coalesced into something solid.
    Something evil. Haroldson.
    His hand reached out to touch the little girl, who was like a statue.
    “NO!!” Shrieked Andrea again, and Haroldson turned to her.
    “Well, well, if it isn't Andrea. I didn't expect to find you here, though I should have guessed, really. It's a wise child who knows its father, but an even wiser one knows its mother.”
    “What do you mean?” demanded Andrea, terribly afraid that she already knew the answer.
    “Come now, don't tell me you haven't noticed a certain resemblance? The red hair, the blue eyes? Did you think we only created one? I didn't think you were that naive, Andrea.” He smiled evilly at her.
    “You mean Kate? Kate is my daughter?” She